Living off the fat hen of the land

I sometimes visit the village allotment to talk to old friends and, occasionally, steal their weeds. Years ago, I was chatting to old Charlie — not to be confused with young Charlie, or Charlie the hair — and asked him what he hoped to grow in the plot he was digging over. “Spinach!” he announced.

Putting aside (for the greater good) the reticence that comes with not wishing to appear a smart alec, I pointed out that he was wasting his time. He was laboriously digging over what was already a first-class crop of fat hen (), a common weed